


Prayers

by Galadraen



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2163063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadraen/pseuds/Galadraen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Bull had never prayed for anything...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble for the prompt, prayers.

He wrapped the smaller man in his arms, pulling him closer to his body, feeling his chest rise and fall in time with his own. A faint green light still flickered in his empty eyes. The Inquisitor had been like this for hours, body seemingly bereft of life. Nothing could wake him from his stupor. He had screamed, threatened, and even begged at the end for Solas to do something, anything, to bring him back. But the elf had just shook his head solemnly. Wherever the Inquisitor was, he could not reach him any longer.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered as he quietly left the room, eyes studying the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze.

He didn’t understand…they had won. The Inquisitor had closed the Breach. Everything should have been okay. But as soon as the task was done, the Inquisitor had sank to his knees, staff falling to the ground beside him as green fade mist streamed from his mouth, his eyes, and the gaping fissures that began to crack across his skin. Solas had said when the Breach snapped closed, something had snapped inside him too. As if his connection to this world had been severed somehow.

Pain swelled in his chest as he looked down into those now vacant eyes, stripped of the laughter and joy that had touched them with his smiles. He brushed a hand across the elf’s cheek, traced a finger across the spray of freckles that dotted his nose and he knew, every other inch of his body, and along his sharp, expressive ears that he had seem so embarrassed by. A smile flickered across his lips, remembering how they would blush crimson with his whispered propositions and the breathy little moans that would escape the Inquisitor’s lips when he kissed him there.

Iron Bull had never prayed for anything. Never considered any alternatives outside the Qun. But as the Inquisitor lay wasting away in his arms, he found himself begging Andraste, the Maker, anyone, to save him.


End file.
